The Suns of Liberty (Book 3): Republic

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  Just as she reached the hallway, she spun back toward him. “If you want freedom, it has to be for everyone. You don't just get to pick and choose.”And with that, she was gone.

  Revolution deactivated his cylinder grenade launchers and let out a deep breath. Those two were still hiding something.

  He could feel it.

  NEW YORK CITY

  FREEDOM RISE

  Von Cyprus hated this.

  They were all lined up. Just like house servants right before inspection. They were in a large, sparse, yet elegant room. Probably used for food preparation during receptions or spare equipment on an as-needed-basis for Council functions.

  Bannister Tarleton paced down the row, a determined grin on his face. When he got to the far end of the line from Von Cyprus, Tarleton spun on his heels and faced them all. “I’ve called you here because you were the closest professional assistants to Chairman Howke.” Tarleton cocked his head. “Were.” He smirked and locked eyes with Von Cyprus. “You serve me now.”

  Von Cyprus wanted to lean out and gauge the expressions of the others, but he dared not. Even though he knew how much importance Tarleton placed on him, and even though he had worked hard to gain the new chairman’s trust, the scientist couldn’t help but fear him. They both were proponents of the Iron Fist, giving them something important to rally around. But one of the problems with being an Iron Fister was that he’d noticed almost everyone else who favored the Fist was untrustworthy and often crazy. And that pretty much summed up Von Cyprus’s thoughts on Tarleton.

  “In the past you’ve been told to hold back, to compartmentalize, and most of all, to keep the chairman in the dark. Plausible deniability.” Tarleton raised his eyebrows. “That ends today.”

  He began walking back down the line as everyone in it remained silent and unmoving. Now it began to feel more like basic training to Von Cyprus.

  “No more half measures. I want to know every angle, every capability. We are going to crush the Suns of Liberty and the Resistance with them.” Tarleton paused for effect. You could just see it in his eyes, Von Cyprus thought. He wanted this to inspire those who agreed and he wanted it to sink in for those who didn’t.

  The game had changed.

  Just then a young analyst stepped forward, and Von Cyprus instinctively felt himself want to reach out and pull the young man back into the line. The young man was wearing an earpiece.

  “Sir, we’ve received the locale of the targets.”

  Tarleton reacted like he was going to give the guy a hug. “All of them?”

  “X-Ray thinks he’s found them.”

  The new chairman’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Get it for me! Get it right now!” He spun toward the rest of the others. “Dismissed! Eric, you’re coming with me.”

  Von Cyprus swallowed and trailed Tarleton into the Viewing Room. Once there, much to the scientist’s relief, Tarleton laid out the old plan the two of them had dreamed about many times, but always under very different conditions, Von Cyprus noted to himself.

  The plan just seemed too risky right now. Unnecessary.

  Von Cyprus listened dutifully, but finally he spoke up. “With all due respect, the Suns of Liberty are already defeated. And we have the Photuris. They have no defense against her.”

  Von Cyprus couldn’t help but crack a grin when he’d said “her.” Making the Photuris ostensibly female had been his idea—since she was to kill the Fire Fly, after all. And the cannibalistic photuris genus of fireflies in nature were always female.

  “They aren’t defeated,” Tarleton said sharply, jolting Von Cyprus out of his musings. “The Revolution is dead, but the Fire Fly is still out there. Helius is still out there. She’ll try to rally them around his memory, and that is when we strike with everything we’ve got and crush them once and for all. No more half measures,” Tarleton said again.

  “It just seems like such a radical step, is all.”

  Tarleton studied him for a long moment. “Are you telling me you don’t think your little device will work?”

  “No, the chip is ready. It will work. That’s not what I’m afraid of.”

  “Eric, you’ve been a good, loyal soldier.” Tarleton stalked toward him. “Don’t change that now.”

  Tarleton was prattling on with that lunatic gleam in his eyes. Von Cyprus wished so badly that he was wearing the electrosleeves. A little black energy,-antimatter beam at his disposal and Tarleton wouldn’t feel so free to threaten him anytime he wanted. Then the man would respect him the way he deserved.

  Finally the CEO paused.

  “I am loyal” he said emphatically. “It’s just that we already have the strike teams en route. The Photuris can handle the Suns and the Fletcher girl. We’re already stretched thin. I don’t see it as necessary.”

  Tarleton turned and approached the wall-full of television screens. Instead of the twenty-four-seven broadcast of Media Corp coverage that the other chairman had watched, Tarleton had live satellite footage of his strike teams headed out.

  His eyes fell to one of the screens on his upper left. A large hangar bay door was yawning open in the glaring afternoon desert sun. Out from the darkness strode a large silver robot.

  The Photuris.

  “The robot can’t be everywhere at once,” said Tarleton, eyes gleaming.

  The robot was perfectly smooth silver. There were no “eyes” that you could see, no outward features at all. Just the smooth silver armor. The machine had changed since the last time Tarleton had seen it. It now had the unmistakable form of a female body. Tarleton shot a side-glance toward Von Cyprus.

  “Poetic justice,” the scientist grinned.

  The robot raised its arms, and black static energy danced across its hands and arms. The energy subsided, and the robot brought its arms back down to its sides.

  “Bring them out,” Tarleton said over the room’s wireless com, and on cue, three Council Guardsmen carrying rifles sprinted out of the hangar door. They took up positions in front of the Photuris as the camera panned back to take in the entire view.

  Somewhere off screen, Von Cyprus could hear a muffled order shouted.

  The Guards opened fire, and glowing luminescent bullets streaked right into the Photuris’s silvery armor. They bounced off like missiles launching into the sky.

  “Try again. Second test,” Tarleton said without emotion.

  This time the silver armor faded away, and the Photuris was left with only a jet-black form. The guards fired. This time the bullets were simply absorbed into the black. The Photuris had yet to even move.

  “All right, test the offense.”

  “Sir?” came back a shocked reply.

  “The offense, test the offense.” Tarleton had no time for questions. He wanted results.

  On screen, another muffled order was shouted out. The three guards with rifles began to shuffle, snapping their heads around nervously.

  And then the Photuris raised its arms and fired two black streaks of energy that enveloped the three and burned them into oblivion.

  “Yes!” Tarleton yelped. “Nice work,” he said into the com.

  He turned back toward Von Cyprus, completely unmoved by the Guards’ deaths. “I need someone who can run the Legion for me. I need someone who can run it the way it always should have been run. Are you that person, Eric?”

  Tarleton didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Of course you are!” the CEO barked with one of his predatory smiles.

  He eyed the floor-to-ceiling wall of TV screens again, taking it all in. “Today starts the beginning of the end of the Resistance.” He spun back toward the scientist. “Go. Go build my team.”

  Von Cyprus nodded and headed for the door.

  Tarleton turned back to the screens. “Today, Plan Alpha Zero goes into effect.”

  CHAPTER 9

  NORRISTOWN, PA

  Rachel Dodge leaned silently against the doorframe, watching her old roommate work.

  Sophia Linh cursed under her bre
ath.

  The plasma bracelets were detached from Sophia’s suit and disassembled. They were propped upright in holders, glowing bright blue. Long cables connected them to her flight suit, which lay on a side table off to her right.

  She’d been able to remove the wrap from her head, though she still complained of nausea and headaches off and on. Her ribs were wrapped, and a back brace kept her movements stiff.

  Tiny, specialized tools were all around her as she toiled at a work bench that looked like a high-tech drafting table. She wore magnifying glasses that helped her see what she was doing inside the nanotech of her bracelets. Sophia had claimed this large utility room as her work space as soon as she’d healed up enough to use one.

  Rachel stayed silent. She didn’t want to interrupt Sophia’s progress. The plasma energy was fascinating. Nothing like working on invisibility. It was a long time before Sophia realized Rachel was behind her.

  “You’re stealthy even without that body paint you call a suit.”

  “Can you make it work?” Rachel asked, ignoring the jab. She had no idea what was going on inside Sophia’s suit, or how something so small as a bracelet could make such a powerful weapon.

  Sophia sighed. “Well, the internal power generator already focuses the output. If I could just figure out how to stretch the H3 supply I could get more mileage out of the deuterium. Theoretically, another ten percent or so. As it is, one launch or two good blasts and these things are done for.”

  Rachel took a chair a few feet from Sophia. She pointed at the bracelets. “Shouldn’t you be worried about radioactivity?”

  “Not from this. It puts out about the same amount as an x-ray.”

  “Always wanted to know, why don’t those things shatter in a fight? I mean, they are just bracelets, right?”

  Sophia smirked. “There’s always a miniscule energy field around them. That’s part of what drains the power level. Otherwise, they’re very efficient. They’ll never make a rocket engine, like my father and I wanted...” Sophia paused. Her face became uncharacteristically somber for a moment. Despite her tough exterior, it was clear how much she missed him. She shrugged. “Because at those high levels the reaction is unstable and volatile. But at a much lower level, like this, it works very well.”

  It was not long before Sophia threw her tools down and ripped off the glasses, clearly frustrated. “I need more H3, pure and simple. Until then, I’m not going to be any help to you all.”

  Rachel didn’t like seeing their powerhouse member frustrated. “I’m game. Where do we find it?”

  “We have a little more in Boston, but not enough to do any good. Unless you know an easy way to get to the moon, we may be out of luck.”

  “Not so much about the moon, but I am pretty good at being sneaky. Surely somebody’s got some laying around somewhere, right?”

  “You mean steal it?” Sophia asked.

  “Fuck yeah, I mean steal it,” Rachel smirked.

  Sophia’s eyes brightened. “Linh Industries keeps a log of all the H3 supplies around the globe.”

  “You sure you’re okay with breaking Robert’s Rules of Order?” Rachel grinned.

  Sophia smirked back. “We are rebels, right?”

  WILLOW GROVE, PA.

  Commander Diana Rocco, leader of COR’s Minutemen program, strolled forward, impressed by what her first lieutenant was showing her: a well-prepared arsenal of troops to attack the Trenton facility. The drones at Trenton had been laid to waste, the Revolution had said, but there was obviously a Fire Fly chamber at the site. It had to have been the power source for the Krill that had caused so much devastation in Philly. And Commander Rocco was going to take that Chamber out, once and for all. “Reynolds, I want these troops prepped within the hour. We’ll deploy at oh-four-hundred.”

  “Yeah, Commander, but don’t you think we outta try COR or the general again? They’ve been talking to each other and—”

  Rocco chuckled and cut him off. “You’re not in the League anymore, Rod. We can’t wait for the coach to call in the play on this one. Sometimes we have to call it in the huddle.” She slapped him on the shoulder and flashed him a shit-eating grin. “Coms are down. This is on us now. We can’t be paralyzed every time we have an equipment breakdown. We have an opening, and we’re taking it.”

  Reynolds grinned broadly. He liked the sound of that. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Diana Rocco was a tough woman. She’d seen action in the African Congo. Come back home and taken on the gangs as part of the LAPD. She wore her light-blonde hair in a short, no-nonsense style that went along with her attitude. She always wanted results, from others and herself, and didn’t give a shit about excuses. You either got something done or you didn’t. She never let her own five-foot–two frame put her at a disadvantage either. “Same height as Helius and just as deadly” she’d sometimes say when the subject came up. She was trained in a dozen kinds of martial arts.

  It was smart not to fuck with the commander.

  After the Council took over, she’d turned in her badge and traveled out to Boston to be part of the Resistance. She’d seen up close how the gangs had been bankrolled by those fat cats.

  The commander liked her lieutenant, Roderick Reynolds, because he too knew how to get things done. Mid-thirties, African American, and very commanding. His stocky, just-under-six-foot frame and thick muscles made him very attractive. The fact that he was a famous former football star probably added to his allure, but he was also just damn good at what he did.

  He wasn’t one to mince words.

  He never hesitated to do what was needed.

  He got results.

  She peered around at her tight surroundings. This makeshift HQ on the outskirts of town would have to do for now. She had gathered the remaining forces left over from Philly and those that had made it in from Boston for the upcoming raid. It was not an overwhelming force, nor was it heavily armed. But she hoped it would be more than enough to take the mostly human-defended Trenton facility. The main goal was to destroy that chamber, anyway.

  Limited objective, minimal casualties, was the plan.

  But whatever it took to get the result, that was what she was going to do.

  In the chaos of the last few days she had done the best she could. Trying to keep anxious Minutemen together, most of whom would simply like to get back to their families.

  It was getting more difficult by the hour.

  And now with Bannister Tarleton becoming chairman she knew that the stakes had increased greatly. It was only a matter of time before he decided to take the fight to them. She and Reynolds knew they only had so much time. The fact that the Minutemen did not disperse after Philly would eventually become apparent to the Council’s spies and Locators. Their challenge was to plot a course to the facility that would leave them undetected for as long as possible.

  The commander turned on her heels and pointed at a spot on a large map of the area that she and Reynolds had stopped in front of. “A thought that keeps running through my head—”

  The wall in front of them exploded in shards of concrete—taking the commander’s head with it.

  Brains, blood, and sinew splattered Reynolds as he dove for the floor.

  He blinked the gory fragments out of his eyes.

  The commander was dead.

  Just like that.

  Two more rounds zinged over his head and…he swallowed in horror when he saw them.

  The bullets were energized. Bioluminescence.

  He just stared at the body of his dead commander. He felt his throat tighten, and his eyes blurred. He knew he had to keep it together, had to think rationally. That’s what she would do.

  Rationality hit hard: the coms weren’t down because of some technical glitch. The Council was blocking them! Been blocking them this whole time!

  Shit! Reynolds gulped. An invasion was coming, he realized. They were probably right outside the door. They killed the commander, hoping to take out command and control.
/>   He couldn’t let that happen.

  And that meant it was all on him now.

  In the next moment, Reynolds’s fears of an invasion were confirmed. A hailstorm of glowing bullets ripped through the compound. The only thing keeping the lieutenant alive was the fact that he had hit the dirt and stayed down. He belly-crawled across the floor as fast as his powerful legs would take him. He watched as the bullets peppered the walls around him and sent chunks of plaster raining down on top of him.

  “Jameson!” Reynolds screamed into his com. “Stay down, stay low! But you gotta do something for me. Can you get to an impact suit?”

  “Yes, sir,” came the thin, nasally reply.

  “Then get one ready for me! I’m coming to you!”

  Ricky Jameson was just a kid, and Reynolds liked him. He’d kind of taken the young man in, looked after him. The kid had already distinguished himself as a top weapons designer for the Resistance. The insurgency needed more brainiacs like Jameson if they were going to prevail against the Council.

  And Reynolds knew he needed to get to that kid.

  All around him bodies were falling. Mowed down before they knew what hit them. Council Guard were outside, surrounding the building, just firing at will. Had to be.

  The bullets were coming in from every direction. Guilt washed all over Reynolds. He and the fallen commander had led the Minutemen into a slaughter. Lined them all up in one place for the Council Guard to pick off. A shooting gallery.

  Their blood was on his hands.

  Reynolds crawled out into a hallway, and he saw it.

  The weapons room. Far end of the hall.

  The place where the impact suits were being stored. The room Jameson was in. Had to get to him. Had to save him.